Avatar The Last Airbender Fan Fiction ❯ One Night's Vigil ❯ One Night's Vigil ( Chapter 1 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from “Avatar: The Last Airbender.” This story is for entertainment purposes only.

ONE NIGHT’S VIGIL

Summary: In Book One, Chapter Nine, Prince Zuko took Katara captive, hoping to use her to get to her friends. It was a long time before morning, when the pirates would return. What might have happened during that one night’s vigil?

A/N: This is a one shot and my first Avatar fic. I wondered what might have passed between Zuko and Katara as they waited for morning the night he held her hostage in “Book One, Chapter Nine: The Waterbending Scroll.” Here is my fanciful, slightly Zutara idea of what might have happened that night. I accept any and all reviews, constructive criticism is always welcomed. Thanks, Fate


Her shoulders ached, and the bark of the slender tree she was tied around was scratchy through the thin material of her long, divided tunic. Her wrists were protected somewhat by the thick strips of dyed leather she wrapped them with, but her fingers had long since numbed under the pressure of the tightly-bound ropes that held her to the tree‘s trunk.

*It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t stolen that stupid scroll, than none of this would have happened!* Bowing her head, Katara trembled slightly. She didn’t know what might happen to her friends at the hands of the angry pirates, and the Avatar was too important to the world for her to have put him in so much danger, and all because of her own stupidity and pride.

The prince’s voice mocked her with her folly as he ordered his men to make camp and take shifts in order to keep watch, in case their so-called allies---the pirates---plotted treachery during the night. The air was damp this close to the water, and Katara longed for its soothing touch even as she closed her eyes against the betrayal of that deep longing. For she had wanted to bend water so much she might have sacrificed everything for it, and the weight of despair sat heavily on her bowed shoulders.

“It will be a long night.” The older man, the general some men had called Dragon of the West, commented rather mildly as the prince’s soldiers dispersed and went about their tasks.

“Yeah. So?” The prince’s voice was hard and irritated. Katara wished he would shut up. She hated that voice, the taunting mockery of it. He had held up her mother’s precious necklace, and said snidely when she demanded where he got it, “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

No, he hadn’t stolen it, but maybe one of his men had. She had lost it during the battle with Haru, onboard the Fire Nation’s coal-mining ships, when the Earthbending slaves had revolted against their Firebending masters. She had thought it lost forever, and mourned for the last link she had had with her dead mother. To find it profaned in Fire Nation hands---the thought was unbearable. Her mother had been killed during one of their raids…

“Perhaps our young guest is tired. Perhaps she would like to sit down, at least.” The general’s rough voice interrupted her miserable reflections. She could feel their eyes on her, and she turned her head away, uncaring what they might do with her. She deserved it, whatever if was, for if she hadn’t let her own stupid pride get in the way, then none of this would have happened, and Aang and Sokka would not now be in danger…

“Get to the point, Uncle. What are you saying?” The impatience in the prince’s harsh voice mocked her for her own impatience with wanting to learn water bending, no matter what the cost.

“Just that it will be a long night, my prince,” the general replied with mild forbearance, clasping his hands behind his back and turning to look out on the moon-dappled water. The surf hissed on the sandy beach, the tide swelling as the silence lengthened. Men moved through the distant underbrush, gathering wood and setting up a temporary campsite. Katara heard steps coming her way, but she ignored them, not caring.

The prince was suddenly there, his calloused fingers loosening the tight knot at her bound wrists. Her head whipped up as the drag on her arms slackened a bit. She stared at him, confused, as he scowled back down at her.

“Sit,” he ordered, the single word harsh.

Numbly, she complied, sliding down the tree bole, her tunic catching against the rough bark as her backside nestled against the roots of the tree, cushioned by dry leaves against the hard ground.

“It will be a long night,” he said, as if that was explanation and some kind of excuse.

She turned her head away, silent. If he was fishing for her thanks, he wouldn’t get it. She hadn’t asked to be tied to this stupid tree in the first place.

He ignored her, stepping away from the tree to go stalk back over to the general’s side. Surprisingly, he kept the rope loosened, though her hands still remained tied behind her back, around the tree’s trunk. There was some give now to the length, and she shrugged her aching shoulders, glad for the small reprieve.

He was right, though. It would be a long night, and she only had her miserable thoughts to keep her company, and her own foolishness for what had happened to blame. It was all her fault. *Stupid pride.*

She felt a tickle in her nose, and wetness on her eyes. Darn it. She didn’t want them to see her cry. Stupid soldiers. Stupid pride.

It was all she had right now, that stupid pride.

Drawing her legs up, Katara wearily rested her forehead on her bent knees. Closing her aching eyes, she fought to keep the silent tears at bay.


Iroh sat by the dying fire, his gaze resting lightly on the brooding aspect of his nephew. The prince sat as still as a hunting predator, one coiled and ready to spring. The tide hissed on the shore, and a light wind tugged playfully at the fine black hairs of his topknot, but the young man did not so much as stir.

Turning his gaze to the girl who sat just beyond them, her dark head on her bent knees, a slight smile played along the corners of the old general’s pursed lips. Stroking his short, grey beard thoughtfully, he finally came to a decision. Standing up with a grunt, he waved an idle, dismissing hand at his nephew, who had spun around at the sudden noise, ready to strike out at any sign of danger.


Zuko scowled, muttering something rude under his breath as he relaxed again at his uncle’s airy wave. He watched, brows drawn and eyes narrowed, as the old general casually strolled over to where the water girl was tied to the tree, wondering what the old buzzard was saying to make the girl stiffen up like that.


“I saw you trying to use the water whip earlier, young Waterbender,” Iroh said conversationally, hoping for a reaction.

He got one, for the girl stiffened, though she remained silent.

“I wanted to tell you that your balance was off, from what little I saw. If you would learn to bend water, young Tribe maiden, then you must learn to shift your weight through the stances, only then will you be able to control the currents,” Iroh offered mildly.

She finally looked up at him, her eyes shadowed silver in the waning moonlight. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, confused by the old man’s banality.

Iroh looked out on the moon-dappled water, where the black outlines of the two beached ships rose like giant, shapeless monsters. The air was clean, and damp, and smelled slightly fishy. He shrugged slightly. “I thought you might like a Master’s opinion. You might be able to use it. You have had to teach yourself how to bend water, haven’t you?”

She was silent for a long time, but the old man waited patiently, listening to the hissing surf continuously rising and receding along the beach’s edge and to the low murmur of the men’s voices talking quietly in the background.

“How did you know?” Her voice was small, he could barely hear her faint whisper above the water’s endless tide.

Iroh smiled, though she didn’t see it. She was proud, this one. As proud and as prickly in her own way as his thorny nephew. Fortunately, he had plenty of opportunity in learning how to deal with prickly teenagers. “You did well, fending off that pirate. I saw you. Still, your technique is rough, and you still have much to learn.”

She remained quiet. Hopefully, she was thinking on his words. Ever helpful, Iroh continued placidly, “You must learn to control your movements, child, and your temper. Patience will bring great rewards, with practice. Your movements must be like the tides, fluid and sure. Only then can you learn how to control the water, and not let it control you.”

“You say much the same to me, Uncle.” He felt the bite in young Zuko’s words as the proud young man approached. “She would be a fool to listen to you. Water is not like fire.”

Iroh only smiled, certain that the impetuous young lord would learn one day. “One element is much like another, my prince. One must learn to control one’s self first, before one can hope to master his---or her---own element.”

Zuko’s fists clenched at his sides, his yellow eyes flashing at the familiar reproof. Iroh decided that he had said enough for now. Let them think on his words, and maybe they would eventually understand them.

“I think I will go find my bed now. It grows late.” Putting his hands behind his back, the old general bowed slightly to the girl, who did not see it, for she had turned her head away at the young prince’s approach. He wandered back down the wooded sands to where the soldiers were gathered around the glowing embers of their banked fire, wondering if he might persuade one or more of them to a game of chance...


“What did my uncle want with you, girl?” His words were sharp, demanding immediate answer.

“What do you care?” Her pale eyes flashed in the darkness, her tone belligerent.

“Your attitude grows wearisome, girl!” he growled, the warning sharp.

“Oh---go jump in the river!” she snapped back, furious at his bullying.

“You already used that one, remember?” he taunted snidely.

“Then why don’t you just go do it?” she spat, and turned her head away sharply so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” A calloused hand snaked out to grab her averted chin and force her head up to do just that.

“Let go of me!” She grit her teeth, her eyes snapping silver fire.

“What---are you afraid of my touch?” he taunted, his lips curled into a sneer.

“I’m not afraid of you!” She tried to yank her chin out of his hard grasp. He loomed over her, blocking out the stars where he knelt beside her. His presence was overwhelming, and she didn’t like the feeling of being trapped and helpless.

“Aren’t you? You should be.” His whisper was low, almost purring, but the words were bitten out and edged in fire-forged steel. A calloused thumb ran lightly, mockingly, along the bottom line of her full lips. Katara froze, shaken deeply by the gentle caress, and the mockery behind it.

“Don’t touch me!” She jerked her head out of his loosened clasp, and he shook with the fury of it.

“Does my touch disgust you? Do you think that because my face is scarred, that my skin is diseased, and my touch tainted?” He slammed a hard fist into the ground just past her knees, making her flinch as wisps of angry flame flickered and smoldered in the dead leaves that scattered at the force of it.

“What are you talking about?” She whipped her head around to glare angrily into his golden eyes, which flickered momentarily in surprise, for true bewilderment rang in her voice.

It was his turn to turn his face away, so she would not see the internal conflict her words raised, and how they affected him. He abruptly got to his feet, and left her where she was. He stalked off, his mind suddenly seething in boiling turmoil. She watched him, confused, and more afraid than ever, for she could not predict what he might do now.


Time passed slowly, and the shadows deepened as the moon disappeared behind some clouds. Resting her head tiredly against her drawn-up knees, Katara finally fell into a fitful doze. She jerked awake, though, upon feeling a light touch on her shoulder, and shied instinctively as something shapeless loomed over her head. The darkness finally settled across her shoulders and she realized that it was a rough blanket of some kind.

“I thought it might be getting cold,” the prince explained sharply in the unbroken darkness as he drew the blanket’s ends across her knees.

Katara blinked, in both surprise and chagrin. She had to clear her dry throat twice, and ended up croaking like a frog as she stumbled over words she thought never to speak to Prince Zuko, of all people. “Th-Thank you.”

“You must be thirsty.” The shapeless shadow knelt in front of her. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and she could barely make out the pale blur of his pale skin. He pulled something from his side, and it sloshed. Katara tensed, wondering if he would so foolish as to let her---

“You must promise me you won’t try anything with this water if I give you a drink.” His voice was amused, as if he guessed her thoughts.

Her scowl was hidden in the darkness. She turned her head away, angry, but the thought of a cool drink on her parched throat proved too much a temptation. Finally sighing, she muttered, “Fine.”

“Your word?” He persisted, the patronizing snob.

“Yes.” She bit that out, though she was pleased he sounded so worried about it.

“I’m not too worried about your bending abilities, girl,” he had the gall to say as he casually uncorked the water-skin he held in his right hand.

Her eyes flashed in the darkness. *Arrogant jerk.*

“But still, I’m not a fool, and I don’t underestimate your ability to freeze water, even with your hands tied behind your back. For that, all you need is air, and you have plenty of that.”

She frowned. If that was supposed to be a compliment, then it was sadly lacking!

“Here.” She suddenly felt his left hand grasping her chin, and she would have pulled away except that he was gently guiding her mouth to the water-skin’s spout. He tilted the skin helpfully, and Katara drank greedily, feeling the tepid water easing the dryness of her throat. After a few swallows, he pulled it away. She protested, and he silently offered it again, until she had drunk her fill.

His thumb gently wiped the last few drops left on her chin as he finally pulled the skin away and let her go. Katara trembled at the gentleness in his touch, and blurted out shakily, “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He sounded annoyed by her question, and sat back on his heels, away from her.

Suspicious, Katara demanded, “What is it that you truly want, Prince Zuko?”


He was quiet for a long time, and finally drew the rather simple necklace from out of his belt-pouch. He touched the small, ivory disk with a roughened fingertip, feeling the familiar pattern of the incised waves that curled back on themselves. He had touched it often, feeling the gracefully smooth lines that must have taken a lot of time and patience to carve into the hardened ivory.

Her question haunted him.

“What is it that you truly want, Prince Zuko?”

His face was a hard mask, his memories bitter.

*Acceptance.*

His voice was flat and hard as he said, “You wouldn’t understand, girl.”

She didn’t offer a reply.

His fist curled around the small trinket held tightly in his palm, so that the unyielding ivory disk dug into his sword-calloused skin. “I made you this offer once already, girl. I won’t make it again. Tell me where the Avatar is, and I will give you back this necklace.”

Her breath caught, as if she stifled back an anguished cry. Her voice was firm, though, as she said again, “No.”

The sinking moon winked out from behind the wispy clouds that had covered it, flooding the small clearing with wan light. He turned his head back to look at her, his golden eyes narrowed, the scar that covered his left cheek a darker blot against his pale skin. His words were acidic, and bitter. “Your loyalty does your friends credit, Katara, but it’s misplaced.”

She bristled, her eyes flashing silver against her dusky skin. “How would you know? Would you betray a friend to get something you want?”

He said nothing, and the heavy silence was only broken by the ceaseless sound of the waves lapping up on the shore.

She turned her head away, her voice soft and frustrated. “I don’t understand you.”

The carved ivory bit deeper into his palm as his knuckles whitened. “Honor is everything,” he said, meaning it.

“Honor is meaningless if you have none!” She cried out, choking back a sob. She refused to look at him.

“Do you question my honor, girl?” His voice was soft, and dangerous.

She kept her face averted, saying nothing.

“Damn you, answer me!” His right hand snaked out to grab her chin and force her to look up at him. Her eyes were brilliant with unshed tears, but she did not flinch away, though she tensed under his hand.

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment. She trembled slightly, and his grasp gentled. Her eyes were so fathomless, so full of emotion. She was beautiful, this Water Tribe peasant, and did not even know it. Innocent, and loyal, steadfast and sure, as he could never be, though she had known sorrow and suffering. His gaze traveled slowly to the sweet bow of her soft young lips, and he wished, suddenly, fiercely, that…

He abruptly let go of her, and stood up. Turning his back on her, he said flatly, his voice hard, “The sun will rise soon. Sleep while you can, girl.”

With that, he was gone.


He did not return again that night. It was his uncle, the old general, who came and roused her from her numbed daze of mindless exhaustion. She was glad it was Iroh, and not the prince. She didn’t know how she might react to him, after that strange confrontation last night. She had thought for a breathless moment that he, Prince Zuko, had meant to kiss her, and she was guiltily aware that she would have welcomed it…

“Steady now, girl. You must stand again. The pirates have been spotted. Come now.” The old man lent her a helpful arm to lean against as she staggered to her feet. Muscles cramped from sitting in one position too long screamed at her as she forced them to move. Her worries and remorse returned in full force as she heard the derisive, triumphant laughter of the returning pirates. All thoughts of the prince vanished as her misery at what she had done returned in full force.

*Aang…Sokka…I am so sorry…this is all my fault!*

She hung her head as she waited. The general stepped away from her to stand close by as the prince marched out in front of his armed guards, the pirates jauntily pushing their captives in front as they emerged inside the clearing.

The endless surf hissed uncaringly into the heavy silence.


Zuko stood at the rail of his ship, his golden eyes staring sightlessly along the retreating harbor as the ship set sail. The long, bitter walk back over land, through thick forest and tangling underbrush with the sour taste of defeat once more in his mouth had not helped to make his mood a pleasant one. The Avatar had once again escaped his grasp, damn him.

He felt his uncle approach, but did not turn to greet the old general. Iroh said nothing, content to stare at the retreating harbor as he waited patiently for his nephew to speak.

The rising breeze as they chugged back out to sea pulled at the simple leather thong he held clasped in one fist. Opening his hand, the prince stared down at the simple white carving on the ivory’s face. It had been her mother’s necklace, he thought.

Iroh raised a bushy gray brow as he noticed the prince’s preoccupation. “Why did you keep that necklace, my prince?”

“I don’t know.” Zuko’s fingers curled back over the tiny trinket, and he stared back out to sea, his eyes brooding as he stared at the unceasing tides all around him.

The old general smiled, and asked nothing more.